it was a tuesday night. no big shakes in this particular quarter of the web. my page was flanked by gutters on both sides as it always is. traffic rumbled into the referrer log at all hours, urchins watching everything. some regulars from the neighborhood stuck their heads in to shoot the breeze. peacay and aitch glanced in the window, hoofing it to one digital library or another no doubt. sebastian and pz sent some folks my way, each with a tip of their snappy fedoras. i was in my office, feet up, tipping a glass. like i said, no big shakes, just a tuesday at the grindstone.

at 7:20 pm, nonist localization, she clicked her way into my comments section from points unknown.

her avatar was mysterious but her gmail address was so short i nearly spilled my hooch. her screen-name fit like a glove, all curvy s’s and round c’s. i figured her for some pro-skirt or chippy trying to drum up traffic scratch with the ol’ flimflam. when i read on i wasn’t so sure…

...was feelin’ low and looking for a laugh or something absorbing; anything to get my mind off of the crumby hours i call tuesday. you managed to give me both. you know your onions mr. nonist. so thanks for distracting me. gonna go and read some more. toodles.

i sat back with my hooch, watching her cast an eyeball over the place just as she said she would. her i.p. checked out. her click paths were deep, her depth of session long. i started to feel like a heel for dummying up. this dame wasn’t some comment troll. my rss feeds dumped stories on my doorstep like a mob of overachieving newsies but now i was distracted. “better delete that ‘buttered muffin’ comment and try to be a gentleman,” i thought.

she beat me to it, damned automatic comment notification! gotta get under the hood and tear that thing out.

“damn it! how’d i get behind the eight-ball so quick?” i wondered. not much of a host was i? sitting there at a desk in a dark, smokey room, with my dogs up, ready to send anyone who tread too heavy out on their ear. why’d i put the url on the door if i didn’t want anyone coming in? “better try again,” i thought. “play nice.”

jmorrison says: sorry seccssssee, didn’t mean anything by it. never can tell when someone’s dropping in just to bump gums. the comments section can get lousy with mugs on the traffic grift, or twists pushing their cams… hell, every bum steer imaginable. i’m only human, and when i’ve got some giggle juice in my belly i’m less than that.

seccssssee said: it’s o.k. j. must get old having to play house-dick everyday. i did take a look around the place btw. interesting…

“interesting?” i suddenly felt aware of the place myself, like a tinsel-town spotlight came through the fiber optics and set everything into relief, all the grammatical errors, the crazy overuse of commas, the spelling mistakes…

seccssssee said: yesiree, you’ve got a nice place here j. warm and dark at the same time. my kinda joint. tell me, how do you keep it in glad rags all the time? what’s your secret?

jmorrison says: glad rags? this ol’ gin mill? well doll, the story’s the same all over, it’s like this- you wake up in the morning and there’s a piece missing somewhere see? a piece which has gotta be big by the feel of the hole in your gut. so what do you do? what can you do? you build a little place. it takes some time. then you start filling the joint with stuff, anything you can find, whatever catches your eye. you tell yourself it’s just to keep busy, just for a lark. you talk to the neighbors, you get into flame wars, you run off at the mouth… thing is what you’re really doing is trying to fill that hole. trying to find something, any damned thing, out there, which keeps you from hurting; keeps the dark shadows off your doorstep. that’s all blogs are. that’s all this place is. anyhow… here i am chinning away, where are my manners? can i offer you something to link? dip the bill a bit?

ads for cock pumps and horse-sex drop into my mail slot with a “ding.” the flat broke nigerians are nowhere in sight.

seccssssee said: better not j. i’ve taken enough of your attention. should probably take a powder. got my own empty spot to try and fill. but listen, thanks again. i’ll come back and see you again sometime. anyway you’ll do alright.

i topped off my hooch and emptied the glass again with a slug. i cracked my knuckles in the dark then touched the keys

jmorrison says: yeah, i might do alright doll, but “alright” just won’t do.

jmorrison says: seccssssee?

the dame had gone, back out there into her crumby tuesday, and i never got a chance to tell her what the “j” stood for.